


Recall As I Wander Along

by Harpokrates



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Exes, M/M, War Stories, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:05:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harpokrates/pseuds/Harpokrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the prompt: Knockout/Wheeljack: long time no see</p><p>There are like seven people on the entire planet. Knock Out was bound to run into his ex eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recall As I Wander Along

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Boston's More Than a Feeling. This is quite possibly the raunchiest thing I have ever written, and it's about robots. Sorry, mom. That being said, it's still really tame.

The door slid open automatically for the fifth time in as many cycles. Then, it slid shut.

"Are you going to come in or not?" Knock Out snapped. He dropped his tools on the workbench, where they landed with a clatter, then snatched a rag from his subspace. His hands were coated in oil, but honestly, if whoever was at the door was _so_ insistent on having his attention, they could deal with waiting for him to scrub his filthy hands clean.

He stomped over to the door and fixed his foot on the rails, forcing it to stay open. "Now, what was it you want—"

His mouth clicked shut.

"Long time, no see," Wheeljack glanced down at him, "Doc."

Knock Out pulled his foot back and blew a servo rapidly clicking the door shut.

"Hey!" Wheeljack yelled, lunging forwards and jamming himself into the doorway. It pinged, and began to slowly slide open. Knock Out tore the control panel off the door switch and fumbled with the wires, grasping for the maintenance override.

"Doc," Wheeljack grunted as the door reversed its direction and leisurely began pushing his face into the wall. "What if this was an emergency?"

"Oh, well," Knock Out hit the button again, "look at you. You're the picture of good health. Get out of my doorway."

"I'll call Ultra Magnus, tell him you aren't co-operating."

Knock Out snorted with a rough whine of his intakes. "Please. _You_ , speaking to Ultra Magnus? Voluntarily? It hasn't been _that_ long."

"Stranger things have happened," Wheeljack shifted his shoulders back. He looked almost pitiful. Knock Out halted the door. He sighed.

"Leave."

Wheeljack tugged himself free and caught Knock Out's arm before he could peel away.

"Knock Out…"

"Oh, don't use that voice on me," Knock Out halfheartedly tried to tug his arm away, to no avail. Wheeljack retracted his blast mask.

"C'mon on, I'm here on my own volition even; why can't we just sit and talk?"

Wheeljack ducked the tin of wax Knock Out threw at his head.

"Hey!"

"Sit and talk?" Knock Out fished around in his subspace for something else to throw. "Unlike you, I don't collect concussions, so I actually remember the last time we sat and talked."

A loose collection of bolts clattered off Wheeljack's helm.

"I don't recall," Wheeljack ducked the next projectile—an old datapad—and stepped into the medbay, "doing much _actual talking_ the last time we sat and talked."

Knock Out felt his face contort into something ugly, before he grabbed the Vehicon limb he'd been cleaning and flung it at Wheeljack's smug face. He sidestepped it easily, with a grace that belied his frame. A flicker of irritation rippled across his grin. Knock Out felt a sinking sensation—probably his spark dripping down somewhere near the vicinity of his fuel tank—and remembered that maybe he shouldn't be throwing things at a Wrecker, no matter how amicable their relationship had once been.

Wheeljack caught him before he could sprint for the door and held him tightly, pinning his arms against his chest.

"Aft," Knock Out hissed once he realize Wheeljack wasn't going to beat him into the flooring, and slapped his chest uselessly with his pinned hands.

"C'mon," Wheeljack said, and looked at him with such a fond expression Knock Out had to shutter his optics, "If we're talkin' afts, I'm pot, you're kettle."

"Please," Knock Out huffed—and if he leaned into the embrace, well, he was tired, that was all, "as if I would ever paint myself _black_ . Do you have any idea how _dour_ that makes you look? And it's impossible to paint over—you'd have to strip the paint down to bare metal."

"How scandalous," and the grin was back, curling the scars decorating Wheeljack's mouth.

"How _boring_ ," Knock Out corrected, "you can't paint over bare metal for at least a week. What would I do with gunmetal grey? It's an abject fashion disaster."

He drummed his fingers against Wheeljack's chest. Wheeljack squirmed, relented, and gave Knock Out enough room to vent. Knock Out wormed a hand free and traced the scars on Wheeljack's face, ignoring the flinch. See how he liked it for a change.

"These are new," he murmured softly, barely touching them with the edges of his claws.

Wheeljack grunted. "Not that new. Got 'em a million years ago."

"Hm."

"'Sides, shouldn't you have seen them back when I first hit Earth?"

Knock Out frowned. "No, I wasn't transferred to high command until after Makeshift died. You don't remember?"

"I collect concussions. Besides, how good would your recollection be if Starscream was shrieking at you twenty-four seven?"

"I've had a dozen or so million years to get used to it." Wheeljack shifted back, and Knock Out stole the opportunity to rest his head on Wheeljack's broad shoulder.

Wheeljack snorted, and Knock Out let himself fall flush against the rumble of his engine.

"I don't think anyone could get used to that."

"Well, percussive trauma and all that. Wartime isn't good for one's audials."

Wheeljack laughed again and Knock Out had to suppress a dangerous wave of nostalgia. This had been a bad idea, and he was getting far too maudlin. What was it they said about exes? Probably: never look at them, also: don't start conversations with them, and most importantly: don't cuddle and remember how _nice_ it was to be held by them.

Knock Out was idiot. Even worse, he was a sentimental idiot.

Wheeljack muttered something against his forehead.

"Come again?" Knock Out shifted to look at him, "I really wasn't joking about the hearing loss."

Wheeljack looked down at him. "What happened?"

"That little skirmish on LV-426. Some overly enthusiastic Autobot was lobbing warheads at the field hospital. Blew most of the capacitors in my right audial."

"Little skirmish?" Wheeljack repeated, "that was the most decisive victory in the Outer Rim campaign. The Decepticons were decimated. That was," he vented as he thought, and Knock Out gradually began pushing him towards the medical berth in the corner of the room, "Lancer's command. Springer was still in recovery from cosmic rust, I think."

"Cybonic plague," Knock Out interrupted, "Biowarfare never used cosmic rust; it was too infectious to the troops."

"They put him in full quarantine, whatever it was. Couldn't even talk to him without a respirator. He gave command to Lancer—I remember Impactor was _pissed_ about that. It was a slagging disaster. Lancer didn't really like me—I was too reckless for her—and I got stuck as a spotter for Perceptor—"

"Ugh."

"What?"

" _Perceptor_ ," the back of Wheeljack's legs hit the berth and he sagged, not quite sitting down. Knock Out leaned against him. "He used to sit in on lectures and take up all our time asking the most _inane_ questions—stupidly technical nonsense that no one cared about. Half the time our professor couldn't answer them and he'd tilt his head and," Knock Out reached up and pinched his nose, making his voice nasal and whiny, "'I shall endeavor to research the matter myself.' He was such a pretentious prick."

"At least he didn't chuck a bomb at you."

"At least," Knock Out patted Wheeljack's chest, "on that note, who was it? Even the Decepticons were court-martialed for attacking hospitals; I can't imagine an Autobot would have gotten away with it."

"We never found out who gave the order, but most of us were pretty sure it was Impactor. As I said, he was pissed he got passed over for command," Wheeljack leaned back on the berth, "and he was always pressing for a more aggressive approach. He was in command at Voyager-8472."

Knock Out winced. "Yeesh. I was part of the response team there. We were sure it had been hit by the Dinobots, at least until the reports came in."

"Hn."

He fell silent, and Knock Out had nothing to do but contemplate the steady him of Wheeljack's engine under his chest, and to admire how—even though Wheeljack was a _mess_ who didn't even bother with the pretense of taking care of his appearance—he really wasn't all that bad looking, and maybe the scars and scuff were _charming_ on him, instead of slovenly.

"What," Knock Out said without thinking, "was it you said?"

Wheeljack curled his fingers around Knock Out's shoulders, and bodily readjusted him so he was straddled—sprawled, really—over Wheeljack's hips.

"I said," he tugged Knock Out closer, "that you were still gorgeous."

"Oh?" Knock Out fished a bolt out of his subspace and flicked it at the door control. The door slid shut. He curled his fingers around the lip of Wheeljack's chest armor. Wheeljack's hands drifted down from his shoulders and caught on the sharp jut of his hips.

Knock Out leaned down and revved his engine. He pressed his mouth by Wheeljack's audial and felt something heat in him at the way he shuddered.

"Tell me something I don't know."

 

* * *

 

 

"Why," Wheeljack paused and shifted so Knock Out could curl under his arm, "did we ever break up?" 

"Incompatible political differences." Knock Out stretched and rolled onto him. Despite the literal millions of years, he still fit neatly along Wheeljack's side, half on the berth and half on him. His hands were hooked into the little ridges and nooks in Wheeljack's armor; it was warm next to his thrumming internals, and Knock Out's extremities had always run a tad chilly.

"Huh?" Wheeljack craned his head up.

"Oh, let me just," Knock Out propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed a streak of red paint off of Wheeljack's face with his thumb. Wheeljack sighed, but didn't fuss, and he shifted his arm to cradle Knock Out's waist.

"I look good?"

'Hmm," Knock Out eyed him appreciatively, tilting Wheeljack's head side to side. Knock Out leaned down and kissed him, deep and slow and sloppy.

"Political differences," Wheeljack said when Knock Out pulled away, gently pressing at his chest.

"Ah," Knock Out blinked himself out of his mild daze, "when I first signed with the Decepticons, I had to submit my medical records," he shifted uncomfortably, "you were listed as my emergency contact. I was still… sore about it, and I told them to strike you from my record. They pried, so I told them we had separated because of 'incompatible political differences'."

Wheeljack frowned. "I feel like an aft."

"What, more than usual?"

Wheeljack rolled his eyes and flipped Knock Out onto his back faster than he could blink, pinning his shoulders playfully.

"I," he sighed, "I, ah, told the guys you dumped me because you were vain and high maintenance."

"What?" Knock Out squirmed backwards, "you, you aft!"

Wheeljack sat back on his heels. "Hey, don't pin this all on me! What, you were, er, sore? Well, Primus knows I was too!" He jabbed his thumb at himself. He looked at Knock Out, and Knock Out sneered back, his face twisted in an ugly glare, all backed up against the headboard. Wheeljack deflated. "You dropped me like scrap metal, Knock Out. I was hurting."

Knock Out crossed his arms over his chest and looked resolutely at the floor. It was covered in dust and metal shavings, and he absently made a reminder to harass one of the Vehicons into cleaning it.

"I guess," Wheeljack grated out, "Breakdown took my place?"

"What?" Knock Out looked up. Wheeljack looked almost _guilty_ , or at the very least, remorseful.

"In your medical records?" 'In your berth' went unspoken, and hung between them like a cloud of smoke.

"Breakdown? We were only ever close friends. Contrary to rumor, I was never the faction moped. Besides, even I'm not neurotic enough for a gestalt."

"Hm."

Knock Out shifted his weight, and reached out his hand. Wheeljack met him halfway and knotted their fingers together.

"What happened? We were _good_."

Knock Out shrugged. "You were stifling; I was clingy. I was vain, and you didn't appreciate me enough. We argued too much. We had incompatible political differences. I'm high maintenance."

"I'm an aft."

"Exactly."

Wheeljack twisted around and leaned back into Knock Out's lap. Knock Out pulled their arms out of the way and draped them across Wheeljack's chest. The weight of Wheeljack's shoulders in his lap was familiar and _by Primus_ he had missed this. He felt wanted and content and they were in the middle of an _argument_ of all things _._ Clearly, he was lonely. He was lonely, and it had been too long since he'd had an affair, and he was relieved the war was over. There, that gave him an excuse: he was happy the fighting had ended and wanted to make the most of it, in the event someone pulled a coup and ruined everything. He was taking advantage of the momentary stability. Psychology, and all that.

"You spent a lot of time thinking about this?"

"It's been a few million years, and welding limbs back on becomes automatic after the first thousand times. I had a lot of free time."

"It's been a long time," Wheeljack tilted his head back to look Knock Out in the eyes, "think we could try again?"

"The problem was  _us_. I don't think it's been long enough for us to change."

Wheeljack reached up and pulled Knock Out down for a kiss.

"I'll try," he said against the side of Knock Out's mouth, "I'll appreciate you, and talk politics, and I'll be less of an aft. I'll try if you try."

Knock Out looked at him. Wheeljack had always had an embarrassingly open face. Knock Out didn't know if it was just around him, or it was something afflicted Wheeljack regardless. It stoked his ego to think that he was the only one who could elicit honest emotion out of such a loner, but he suspected it was just the way Wheeljack was. Why else would he wear a battle mask so casually?

Whatever the cause, he was genuine. Knock Out thought, and then he forced himself not to think, and then he thought about how doing exactly that had ruined this relationship the first time, and after that his head started hurting and all he wanted to do was lie down. He bent over Wheeljack.

"I'll try," he murmured against his chest, "long time, no see?"

  
"You too, Doc."


End file.
